“Roses may say “I love you,” but the cactus says “Fuck off.”

“What can I say about love that’s never been said by me or anyone else? Well, sometimes love smells like my farts, after I eat a dozen roses.”

“She didn't say it, I only thought she said it. So really it was my thought, my words, and not hers. How could I confuse "I love you" with "May I take your order?”

“How many ways can I say “I love you”? I could say it in another language, like French. I could say it through action, like a kiss. Or I could say it indirectly, like telling your best friend, April. Yes, I think I’m ready to tell April I love her.”

“I hear what you say in what you don’t say, you see, because I’m a Helen Keller kind of communicator. Love is just as visible as invisible.”

“I like saying things that are both repetitive and repetitive. But I never repeat an I love you. I repeat: I never repeat an I love you.”

“I made myself an “I Love Jennifer” jacket out of my old “I Love Jenn” jacket. Two girls, one continuous love. The I Love Jennifer is a little off-center, but then so am I. Better than being self-centered, as my clone would probably say.”